


Staying

by Curt_Kenobi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Gen, It's Endverse Cas, drug overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7979128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curt_Kenobi/pseuds/Curt_Kenobi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas trips, but it's not like normal. But is that really bad?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Staying

**Author's Note:**

> this was sitting on my flash as [untitled future!cas tripping]. Probably a better title, tbh.

This isn’t how it usually goes. This – this is _fucked._ Not like it isn’t usually a little screwy; hell, that’s a prerequisite – half the fun, right? Yeah. But this? No. Just…no. The off-kilter skew of reality he can deal with. Some might call it dizzying, but he associates it to floating (which is close to flying – he actually _can_ get that far gone, but it always ends with bitching and nagging ‘cos he spent a day and a half laying on his ass outside unnerving people). It’s nothing like _before,_ but sometimes – okay, a _lot_ of the time, he indulges in the pale comparison, the pretend.

It’s something that he’ll never get back – that _before._ So he’ll take this.

He Fell, and he’s sullied himself beyond all salvaging since he hit Earth. He’s beyond salvation. But…

…it’s a very _human_ thing to do.

This isn’t what he wanted, though.

Maybe he’s gotten a hold of something he shouldn’t have.

Maybe someone’s fucked with his arsenal deliberately.

Maybe he’s just finally found the oh-shit of chemical interactions in his system. (Damn, but he doesn’t even exactly know _what_ all is in his forsaken system.)

This is _not_ dreamy and screwy, stretched and skewed and shifting, blurred and distorted. Well, it _is,_ but not in the usual way – like existing in a cotton ball, or in between the layers of two-ply toilet tissue Chuck covets like the Holy Grail. This is _altered_ , oh fuck is it ever, but it’s raw – sharp, piercing.

It’s too fucking _real._

He does. Not. Like. …Does. Not. Want.

“ _CASS!”_

The way the word travels on the sound waves – how it stretches and bobs, and crashes. It all falls down… It’s smothering him – hot, cold, jagged.

_Smack!_

…He should have felt that.

“ _CASS! What –”_

There are words after that, but he doesn’t catch them, doesn’t…

Words break down into sound bites, barks and sibilant caresses hidden under more cracking reports.

…Another hit. He should feel that. He knows he should, but…

A face swims and twists before his in between blackouts – a badly warped picture blinking in and out of existence.

Bright green – wide, wide bright green…like the grass of that autistic man’s Tuesday yard. Flecks of brown from distant trees. ...So pretty. So…

_Not calm. They’re scared._ A storm whipping across the landscape.

_“CASS…”_

It stretches, warps like a tape cassette in a player that’s dying… _Heh, thank Dean for that analogy..._

…and everything goes black, like a TV snapping off.

The next thing he knows is shock. The very word is his entire system – everything lit up like a fireworks display. He jangles, sputters. Water thrown on a raw electric wire.

“Cass, come back. Come back. Come back….”

_Where did I go?_

The backhand across his face he feels this time, though numbly. It’ll hurt later, he thinks, maybe. Everything still swims in his head. The water’s in his head…

“What the FUCK is WRONG with you?!”

He’s under again and yanked back up – somewhere his mind connects he’s being thrown into water and hauled back up, but he’s too focused on the shock of it. _Like a baptism. Cleanse the heathen's soul. Or a drowning. Drown the witch...._ The cold courses through his system, setting his teeth on edge as they clatter and his body follows suit. ... _Definitely a drowning._

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry….” He flails for the harsh hands twisted in the front of his soaked shirt. Push, pull…he isn’t accomplishing either. Can't find the coordination to even cover his face, can't find the strength to grip and hold.

“Damn right you’re sorry!”

…More words follow but all Cas can do is try and hide in the crevices of those two short words, pull them over his dripping head like some sort of cover. Hide away, where it’s quiet, quiet like that moment of blackness, of nonexistence….

He’s dunked again, and when he gasps for air after being yanked back up, he’s full out crying now.

“Stay with me, Cass.”

“I am, I am.” He shivers hard, the chemical mix in his body shaking around and oozing out. It slithers up his spine, thick in his throat, tickling the back. He vomits.

He’s staying...but he’s not sure if it’s worth it.


End file.
